


Shovel Talks & Childhood Stars

by TheForestUnderQuarantine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Injured Lance (Voltron), Late Night Conversations, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Stargazing, Suicidal Thoughts, Uncomfortable Truths, midnight snacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21982408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheForestUnderQuarantine/pseuds/TheForestUnderQuarantine
Summary: After a mission gone south, a recovering Lance has a conversation with a suspiciously-acting Shiro.For my friend's Lance Positivity Week Day 3: Stargazing
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 88





	Shovel Talks & Childhood Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Poltergeistreport](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poltergeistreport/gifts).



The observation deck always felt cold, even though the room was as temperature controlled as the rest of the Castle-ship. Just looking out at the sky—seeing galaxies seemingly swirling beside other galaxies, a spreadsheet of stars, space dust bruising the deep black of space red and purple with the faintest traces of blue—made Lance feel cold and alone. A man standing before a universe that found him lacking, the abyss observing him behind his glass. 

He knew what it was like to be stuck in space, hurtling through with only his uniform and helmet for protection and insulation, could see the ice painting spiderwebs of ice spreading over his helmet’s visor. Space was black frost, penetrating through his very being. And yet, he could not look away—everywhere he looked, a planet that might need saving, countless lives that could be lost as he blinked or yawned. Somewhere deeper, galaxies far far away, scrawled through to the seeming end of the universe by an uncaring Coran as if it were a news feed with only the most basic of memes, was home. 

Earth. Terra. Tierra. Terror to never see it again. 

He tried to consider it in comforting terms—maybe his parents were looking up at the sky, and they’d make eye-contact thousands of light-years away from each other, thinking of the other’s eyes. He used to think his mamá’s eyes were full of stars, so when he looked at the sky he tried to imagine they were hers, twinkling warmly and welcoming him into a hug. 

But he couldn’t. Not for very long.

He’d almost died a few weeks ago, stranded, alone in space, waiting for death or his friends to find him. 

Even now, he shivered. 

He’d expected death. He was so cold, even in his insulated armour. So cold. Fingers numb. Eyes seeing nothing but ice on the glass.

It had been Red that saved him. A flash of scarlet and a lion’s roar and then he was swallowed up & delivered home to the Castle. 

He’d been scolded. Allura and Keith chewing him out in their worry for being too close to the explosion zone when he’d taken the shot, looking to his wounds, rushing him to a healing pod. Hunk and Pidge insinuating he was an idiot, Pidge suggesting he hadn’t made the calculations before pulling the trigger. Coran fussed as if he were a son as his fingers danced over the healing pod, inputting the scanning & directed healing function of the pod. The mice scrambling to help as a bolt fell off the old machine’s base. Shiro just stood there. Glaring in the background.

He’d done that a lot since coming back. Silence and scowls. Lance tried to stay out of his way, stay quiet when his attempts at cheer had the former leader pulling back into himself and practically growling at him. His disappearance had left a hole that even Shiro’s own return hadn’t filled. Trauma heaped upon trauma, impossible for Lance to comprehend or assist with. This wasn’t something he could help with a quip, keep together with intuition, or decompress with a movie night and pampering session.

Lance was only a kid. His experience with trauma was consigned to an uncle he rarely saw who his family spoke to in low tones, careful not to shut any draw too loudly in his presence or let their car backfire near. This uncle had disappeared from his life shortly after entering it. Noodle art and big hugs couldn’t heal his family’s hurt, no matter how much he tried or vowed he’d get better and be the best to protect them so they would never cry again.

Lance was still a kid. A little older. A little wiser. But how could you heal so much hurt? Trauma was an absence of words. A cry alone in the night. A gap in the memory for protection. A scar that only showed the surface of the damage. There was no way for another person to take that away. Just make the world around it a little softer, a little safer for the person impacted to heal.

Seeing the former team-leader glaring at his bloodied arm, his torn open upper back, suit melted into skin, made Lance feel guilt in his own pain. He knew it was wrong. Not logical. Not fair on himself. But he didn’t want to harm his hero, add more stress to his plate. The thought and self-disappointment was wrong. Wasn’t fair on either of them. He tried to let it pass.

As he went into the healing pod: Keith’s scared face, Allura’s deep concern, Hunk’s fear, Pidge trying to laugh it off with ‘again, Lance’ but there was terror in her eyes, Coran’s solemn face. Shiro’s glare.

His last thought before the healing pod froze him in suspension was that Shiro seemed to hate him even more since he returned. Then there was nothing.

He’d come to with those same faces, each one softened with relief. Even Shiro’s was a little calmer. A bit less pissed. 

Lance had cracked a joke—couldn’t remember what it was, said on autopilot—to break the tension. It worked. Everyone tittered. There was a groan of ‘oh Lance, same old Lance’ and then Lance could extract himself with a yawn and a cocky smile. A ‘despite being unconscious, the healing pod doesn’t let you sleep and I need my beauty rest,’ before dashing out to the kitchen to feed the ache in his belly. 

He found himself just a few hours later draped in a blanket, wearing his blue lion slippers—he was in Red now, but Blue was his comfort, always—with a bowl of food goo cradled in his lap and a spoon in his mouth. The observation deck glowed a faint blue, the lighting dark and set to low. He didn’t want anyone walking past think he was out of bed. That he couldn’t actually sleep. In fact he’d looked outside of his door, checking the hallway, for signs of life. Like a cool ninja, he snuck suavely down the corridor through to the observation deck, dipping into doorways when he heard the mice scuttling through the hall and Pidge returning to her room with her laptop, no doubt ordered to sleep. He didn’t want anyone to wonder about his night time wanderings. He couldn’t sleep for fear of nightmares, and there was nothing wrong with that. But he was sick of their concern and their contempt disguised as concern.

He sighed, taking in the stars. Coran had told him the quadrant, the letters and numbers attached to their current sector of space, a string that meant nothing to him. Had told him the popular name of the galaxy they were in. The word was Galran. Another sign of their expansion and penetration of the galaxy. Before that it had been Puigian. ‘Ihranalax.’ It translated as home.

His eyes caught on a pair of stars, large and glowing. Red and blue. He smiled. His lion’s stars, guiding him onwards while the lions stayed in their bays.  
His hand—long fingers scarred and aching, gnawed nails in good need of a manicure—rested against the glass. He made eye-contact with his reflection and let out a long sigh. He looked so small, buried in his blanket. 

On some nights he asked the command system to show him the hologram for earth. He’d cup his hands around it, as if he could pretend to hold it in his palms like a tennis ball, small and fragile. There would be static fuzz around the edges, the image letting off a form of magnetism. But there was no actual weight to it.

He couldn’t bring himself to do it tonight. Earth was too far off. A speck in the galaxy, blown to the back of the shelf. He buried his head into his arms and sobbed. He allowed just the one (alright, three) as an indulgence, before sniffling and drying his eyes on his blanket. He took deep breaths. The old trick his mama taught him. Breath in. Breath out. Feel his chest expand and retract. Then count to ten and repeat. The meditation got his breathing in check and calmed him down. He glanced at his reflection again. Yep. He looked okay. If no one looked too closely at his red-rimmed eyes—which he could excuse on space dust, make a show of his allergies—they’d never know of his weakness.

He looked closer. God, his eyes were so dulled by stress. His pupils blown. Shaking. As if tremoring in a constant state of fear. His mama used to be so proud of his eyes of blue. Said they were ocean eyes. Now they were slate grey and tired. He looked at himself. Really looked at himself. His hollowed out high cheekbones. The stress in his rigid shoulders. His skin, so washed out and bruised … he touched his cheek, wincing at a tender bruise that the healing pod hadn’t delegated energy to fix. Ouch, it was a shiner.

He tenderly rubbed at the spot, pushing his sore check into his eye, until his eyes lighted on a pair staring at him.

In the dark, they seemed to glow a cruel purple.

Shiro.

His figure moved from a black and white smudge to a tall broad impenetrable body in his vision as he took him in. How Lance hadn’t seen him was beyond him. Was he that self-absorbed? Possibly. Or Shiro was just uncannily quiet. It was past midnight and Lance felt this was the set-up to a horror movie, or a nightmare. Maybe he’d finally be kicked off the team by the most experienced player. Six lions. Five paladins. The math made sense. He turned to the former team-leader with the shakiest of smiles.

“Hey Shiro. Can’t sleep either?”

Shiro did not return it.

Lance floundered. “Is this your go-to comfort spot, too? I’m sorry if I’m taking it up. We must always just miss each other because I’m here most nights. What are the odds? Haha. We have so much in common.” He scooched over on the floor, patting the space next to him. “We can share it? I promise I’ll be quiet. I just …” he swallowed the lump in his throat, unable to maintain eye-contact with Shiro’s steady unnerving gaze he looked out to space. “I really need the stars tonight.”

He flinched, expecting to be told to shut up and get out, but was surprised to hear the oldest paladin’s armour—still in armour at this hour? Did the man sleep in them?—creak, the plastic and metal shifting to accommodate for Shiro sitting on the floor beside him. Other than the sound of his breathing—a steady, dry sound—Shiro said nothing.

“Not a night for words, huh?” Lance chuckled, shutting up when those eyes shot to him. “I … I get that. Bad dreams?”

Shiro hunched in on himself, closing off. “Lance, I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Lance clammed up and nodded, minutely giving him more space. He glued his eyes forward to the stars, trying not to droop at once again letting his childhood hero down.  
It hurt, honestly. When he’d shaken Shiro’s hand in Keith’s getaway cabin, he’d thought it was the start of something special. Finally getting the recognition and respect of his favourite garrison staff member. Finally getting a ‘good job, Lance, you’re so valuable to the team.’ He’d dreamed a lot about that as a kid and then as a teenager, honestly, smiling up at the face of ‘Officer Takashi Shirogane’ made into an advertising poster for the Garrison as well as space-flight organisations at large. He’d thought those grey determined eyes would look down at him and poster-Shiro would say “you’ve got this and I’m proud of you and you’ll be the next ace pilot.”

Instead he’d been completely overlooked. In the flight simulators Shiro had monitored for the first few months before they’d been assigned their ultimate ranks, he’d been overlooked. It had been all about Keith, Keith, Keith. Keith who clipped his wing and refused to fly in formation. Lone Wolf Keith. Keith who got into fights. Keith who Shiro treated as an extension of himself, a little brother to mentor because he was alone and struggling. Lance was struggling in his own way. None of the teachers ever gave him support. Even his occasional chats with Veronica saw her sighing and blaming him indirectly for his poor performance. “You just have to work harder, Lance.” The thing was, he did work hard. So hard and so constant, sneaking into the simulators at night, often versing an unknown who had the same thought who always put ‘Thunderstorm Darkness’ in as his name on the scoreboard. He never figured out who his companion was, but Thunderstorm flew free and true and made him become a better pilot as Lance let go of his performance hangups and anxiety and distributed concentration (seriously, it was hard having the eyes of a class and Iverson on him, made him break out in sweats) and just flew. And he got better.

Definitely fighter class level for the Tailor.

But of course, if he admitted to his illicit midnight soirees, he’d be disciplined. So they never knew. 

And his relationship with Shiro in space was all orders (as benign and level-headed as they were), dismissal of plans, elbows in the back and barbed words if he flirted with a girl when on-the-clock, being loudly ignored when trying to lighten the mood with a pointed turn of the back, and being passed over for important missions. As if he just was never good enough in Shiro’s eyes.

All he wanted was to be good enough.

He’d thought things had been looking up, that Shiro had finally seen him when they were in Beta Traz and working as a unit. His hero calling him Sharpshooter had made him glow. He thought he’d finally been seen.

But then Shiro had disappeared. And once again, he might as well have been an invisible bad stench to the senior officer who rarely acknowledged him outside of a wince.  
Shiro seemed to stare at the steadily growing distance Lance was putting between them. Lance could see this in the reflection. With deliberate intent, Shiro pushed himself closer. A declaration of war if ever there was one.

“What?” Lance asked loudly, voice a bit nervous. “You don’t want me talking or in your space, so why are you entering into mine?”

Shiro blinked. “I … aren’t friends supposed to sit closer together? Comfort in closeness.”

“You consider us friends?” Lance perked up.

“Well,” Lance’s face dropped as Shiro let the word trail off. Shiro’s eyebrows were drawn close together, as if struggling to remember what he was trying to say. “I feel like we could be friends in time. Maybe. You’re a good kid, Lance. Just a bit loud when what I really need is quiet.”

“I can be quieter,” Lance mumbled, looking at his hands.

Shiro looked at him and smiled, cocking his head to the side to try and make eye-contact. “Sometimes it’d help. Like just dim the spark a little, for the team. A little less ‘give me your attention’ and a little more ‘I’m a team-player.’ I had to learn that the hard way.”

“What do you mean,” Lance slowly gave him his focus and gaze.

“I mean I used to want nothing more than to be the best. To get all the accolades and have everyone know my name. I” Shiro stared at his hand, flexing his fingers. “I really wasn’t coping with my muscular dystrophy. The knowledge I’d be grounded very soon and that I could drop dead at any moment. You know that fear now, don’t you? I could see it on your face when you got out of the healing pod after saving Coran from that blast. You looked haunted. And I get it.”

“I used to flirt with all the pretty boys I could find. It’s why seeing you with Nyma and Allura makes me cringe, I see too much of my own antics. It’s from the movies, right? The old Hollywood films where the suave guy gets the girls. So you lose yourself in a role that isn’t you. Is a bit too cocky and a bit more direct and you fall flat on your face. Only one I really wanted to respond was Adam, but it was just the attention, you know? To be seen. To be valued. But then I took it for granted. Swung the other way—the mission above all else, no matter the cost to myself and the people around me.” He reached his metal arm out, hand reaching for the stars. “When all I wanted was that one person. And all I needed was myself.”

“But you’re brilliant,” Lance retreated into himself. “When all you have is yourself and you’re so, so ….” He slumped. “Me. It’s not enough to rely on. Mediocrity.”

Shiro looked taken aback, eyes wide and boyish as if completely taken by surprise. “You really feel that way? When you’re so,” he used jazz hands, stiffly. “Razzle-dazzley? You don’t think you’re a star?”

Lance barked a laugh. “How can I,” he pointed at the observation window. “The stars are out there.” Jabbed a finger to Shiro’s chest. “And there’s one here. And all sleeping soundly in their beds right now. Allura, Keith, Pidge, Hunk? Superstars. But me? I’m just in the shadow of stars. The little dark space that kinda dims around their edges. Gargh, even my metaphors suck. I can’t do this. Literature was never my best subject. Just ask Professor Montgomery.”

“You convey yourself well, it’s a fine metaphor” Shiro soothed. “Even if it guts me. You’re not that way at all. You’re, you’re—y’know, Lance. Our sharpshooter. That contrary voice we all need to correct plans when we have a blind spot.” Shiro could see Lance getting ready to argue so pointed to the bowl in his lap. “Is that Hunk’s latest food goo experiment? How is it?”

Lance handed the bowl to Shiro who literally shoved his hand in and scraped out a handful into his gob. The animal. “Hey!”

“Hm, it tastes a bit like cinnamon.”

Lance, who was about to berate Shiro, stopped mid-thought with his finger still raised in confrontation. He was elated. “That’s what I thought!”

“That kid can really cook.”

“Tell me about it,” Lance leaned back, relaxed, onto the floor. “Did he ever tell you about the Croquembouche he made from scratch in our first year at the Garrison?”

“No, he didn’t,” Shiro said. “He barely talks to me. But was it amazing?”

“Hunk’s just a bit cagey with new people sometimes,” Lance said, scooping up some goo for himself. “But yeah, absolutely incredible. The man’s an auteur of patisserie.”

“Did Keith like it?” Shiro asked.

“Keith … wasn’t really friends with us at that point,” Lance admitted, sourly. “I wanted to be his friend so badly, but nothing I ever said could impress him or even get a reaction. It was like he didn’t know I existed, even when I’d try every time to invite him to a get-together or food party. He was single-minded and determined, and he didn’t want to make friends.”

Shiro winced. “I feel I share some of the responsibility there. I feel Keith kinda imprinted on me. I did change his life completely. Gave him the opportunity to come to the Garrison and did everything I could to teach him and to keep him there. But I think he saw how distanced I was with everyone outside of the mission and kinda thought that was the way it was supposed to be to succeed. When honestly? It destroyed my relationships. Made my life unhealthy and unpleasant. I really should have encouraged him to make more friends his own age.”

“Keith’s stubborn. He probably would have been all,” Lance fashioned his face into an uncannily familiar scowl. “‘I don’t need anybody’ about it.”

Shiro smiled. “You have his mannerisms down. Been watching him awhile?”

“I,” Lance flushed. “Shut up, no I haven’t. He’s just very predictable.”

Shiro gave him a flat look, before quirking his lips into a smile. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

Lance scowled his own scowl this time. “There’s no secret to tell. So what if he knows I imitate him behind his back. Anywwwaaay,” he looked back to the stars. “If I might ask. Why were you so mad at me before?”

“Before?”

“When I came back. You were glaring at me when they were taking me out of Red.”

“I was concerned. For you and for the lion. It was a very risky shot to take out in space without back-up, Lance. And you’re just a kid,” Shiro glared down at his hands. “If anyone should be putting themselves in danger, it should be me as the adult here.”

“Someone needed to take it. And I did all the proper evaluations! I figured I had a shot at survival.”

Shiro gave him a flat look. “And you could have been just as easily incinerated. Do you not care about your own life?”

“I do. Ofcourse I do. I want to go home,” Lance raised his voice, angry at the insinuation. “But it was either take the shot or lose a planetful innocent people. I knew the risks. But I wasn’t going to be selfish. I had to take it. Besides,” he lowered his voice. “It’s not like it’d be an issue if…y’know. You could just take back black and Keith could go back to Red. Then all the best paladudes would be there for the job.”

Shiro narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you DARE put that back on me. I’m FINE not piloting. I love Black, but I’m happy for Keith to be my replacement. He holds the legacy up better.”

“Does he now? Because it seems to be a lot of pressure to put on someone who doesn’t want to lead.”

“Keith is an excellent leader,” Shiro narrowed his eyes.

“I never said he wasn’t,” Lance challenged. “It’s just not he wants to do. You remind me of my Dad, putting pressure on me to continue the family business when all I wanted to do was fly. All Keith wants? Is to make friends. I can see it in the tentative attempts at friendship he makes. Being a leader? Puts a barrier between us.”

Shiro tsked. “I don’t have time for this Lance. My head is aching. It’s one in the morning. If Keith has a problem, he can tell me about it. We have each other’s trust.”

Lance deflated. “He doesn’t want to let you down.”

“Yeah well, maybe that’s just deflection,” Shiro glared. 

Lance froze. How did things go south so quickly?

“I … I should go. I need to go,” Lance stood up, bewildered and disoriented.

“Shit. No. Lance. You’re not letting anyone down, that’s not what I meant. It’s just a lot to reflect on for me as a leader, and I—”

“You’re a great leader,” Lance blurted. “You and Keith both are. I really enjoy being under Keith—I mean I wouldn’t want to support anyone from behind like K—you know what I mean. This is all coming out wrong. Please don’t give me the shovel talk.”

“I think we’ve had too many uncomfortable talks tonight,” Shiro sighed. “But if you finally got your shit together—if you genuinely do feel something for him and aren’t just going to chose some other person over him—you’d have my blessing. But I know you need more time. And Keith doesn’t deserve being strung along. Don’t … don’t do to him what I did to Adam. And don’t do to yourself what I did to myself.”

Lance let the words sink in, trying to puzzle them out as he padded back to sit down. “Who’d have thought stargazing with my childhood hero would lead to so many unpleasant truths, huh.”

Shiro blinked, bewildered, turning to look at him slowly. “Since when am I your childhood hero?”


End file.
